


Who Died and Made Me Boss?

by Absolutely_Corrupted



Series: Reflections/SIs in KHR [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Attempted Realism, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Self-Insert, Sky Flames (Katekyou Hitman Reborn!), mafia, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-07 09:00:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17957561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Absolutely_Corrupted/pseuds/Absolutely_Corrupted
Summary: In an alternate universe where things are just a shade less ridiculous, Sawada Sen finds herself in a strange position. Mafia boss? Flames? Why couldn't she have ended up in something she'd actually enjoyed - like Harry Potter?





	1. Chapter 1

Reincarnation was, at least in my case, a strange experience.

 

Unlike fanfiction would have you believe, there is no convenient higher power to explain things to you. You aren’t given any sort of explanation, you simply have to deal with circumstances as they are.

 

On the bright side, you aren’t really _you_ any longer. Trust me, it may not sound like it, but this is a blessing. The memories never fade – how can they when you have no explanation as to why they remain in the first place? – but there is a degree of separation. A word or smell may trigger a recollection, but they feel more like visions than true memories.

 

In fact, the best way to describe it would be to compare it to a movie. You watch it play out, certain parts make you laugh, make you cry, but in the end, you know you’re only a spectator; the events will happen the way they were always going to – nothing you do or feel will change that.

 

But I digress.

 

In my second life, I was named Sen, for the tragic 17th century Japanese figure. That seems a bit random, but less so when you consider my father’s name is Iemitsu. On his side of the family, they’ve been naming sons after Tokugawa Shoguns for generations. As the first daughter born since then, my name was chosen from amongst the more notable female names of that line.

 

Strange, right? A new life with a new name… Then again, I suppose it’s no less unbelievable than an eternity in paradise. What really baffled me about the whole situation was the sudden and startling similarity between my new life and an anime I’d never gotten around to watching.

 

That’s right, an _anime_.

 

Some-word-that-starts-with-a-K Hitman Reborn, to be exact. Or rather, not so exact, in this case.

 

It’s been a while – so it’s lucky I remember that much. In my old life, I’d only taken a very brief interest in anime and manga. Even then, Naruto had been more my speed. KHR, as I’ve taken to calling it in my head, was a little too slap-stick for my tastes. I’d only ever looked it up because it was popular and had an appealing summary.

 

From what I recall, it was about a boy who found out he was the heir to a mafia family, which sounds pretty interesting when you consider the implications. Unfortunately, it didn’t live up to expectations – I liked a bit more drama in my entertainment. And so, I’d never watched past the first few episodes.

 

Now, as I faced the oddly young-looking tutor (hitman) my mother had hired, I found myself regretting that decision.

 

“Excuse me,” I said. “But do you really expect me to believe I’m the heir to the most powerful mafia family in the world just because you say so?” I raised both eyebrows, wishing I could raise just one to better express my disbelief.

 

Sure, so far the situation was shaping up to match that anime I just barely remembered (and only because the boy claimed to be both a hitman and here to train me to inherit a mafia family), but there were some key differences.

 

My so-called tutor was not a baby, for one.

 

“Of course not – I’m going to prove it to you.” The child tilted his head in a facsimile of innocence, one ruined by the dark look on his face. “Tell me, do you have any regrets…?”

 

I frowned at the non-sequitur. “Everyone has regrets.”

 

He tilted his head back at my answer, smiling. “Good, good…” he said almost to himself. Then, to me, “I’m glad you feel that way.” And with that, he pulled out a handgun.

 

“Woah,” I raised both hands in a placating gesture. “What are you-”

 

_‘BANG!’_

Suddenly, my feelings pertaining to my current situation melted away. They weren’t important. What _was_ important was the homework I’d been putting off. The same homework I’d been worrying about all morning.

 

I raced upstairs to my room. My backpack was at the foot of my bed, the red folder with my assignments placed neatly inside. I didn’t bother with bringing it over to my desk. Instead, I sat down right there and fished a pencil from the bottom of my bag.

 

I started in on my math assignment without hesitation, completing it and getting through half of my history packet before the haze lifted.

 

I dropped my pencil and glared at the little monster lounging on my bed. “What did you do to me?”

 

“Dying Will Bullet.” He swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up. “It activates and enhances your willpower. Basically, when it hits you you’ll find that your resolve to do things is strengthened to the point that inhibitions and doubts no longer matter.” He frowned. “Frankly, I’m a little insulted you were more worried about your homework than our conversation.”

I straightened my spine to ease out a kink. “This is ridiculous. I hope you know that.”

 

“Ridiculous but true.” The jerk had the audacity to smirk. I fought the urge to throw my pencil at him.

 

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t take your word for it,” I said airily. “While I may admit that there’s something beyond the ordinary going on here, that doesn’t mean I believe _you._ ”

 

“You know, your attitude is starting to get on my nerves.” Something in the air shifted. Maybe it was his body language that changed or maybe just his tone, but I felt my heart rate speed up in response.

 

I fought to appear indifferent rather than cowed. “Oh yeah?”

 

He smiled pleasantly at me and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Yes, but we can deal with that later.” His tone abruptly changed. “Your English is impeccable – you sound completely fluent.” _What?_

 

I shook my head as if to clear it. “Excuse me?”

 

“Your English. When you said you could speak it well enough to forgo Japanese entirely I’ll admit I had my doubts, but you weren’t kidding.”

 

Still a bit unnerved by the sudden change in atmosphere, I answered automatically. “Well my mom’s a hafu and I’m pretty good with languages… plus I watch a lot of American TV.” It was the same answer I’d been giving for years. It was both true and avoided the whole ‘I’ve lived another life’ issue.

 

“That’s good,” the child-person- _thing_ announced. “It’ll be useful when you take over the family. Of course, you’ll need plenty of instruction elsewhere, but the language skills are an excellent start.”

 

I scowled. “Look, I’m going to need some sort of proof. Your bullet trick was neat, but I fail to see what it has to do with me or this mafia family you expect me to lead.” The anime thing was looking more and more plausible by the second, but I still couldn’t accept it. After years of relative normalcy, it seemed too strange, despite the peculiarity of my very existence.

 

He reached into his suit jacket – which, by the way, looked outlandish on someone of his apparent age – and pulled out a manila envelope. “Here,” he thrust it toward me. “This should be sufficient.”

 

Somewhat suspiciously, I took it. He nodded at me when I went to open it, so I bent back the metal prongs and pulled the contents out. “Oh god…” Inside were dozens of photos, paper-clipped to the top of a small stack of files. I couldn’t read the files, as the only languages I knew fluently were Japanese and English, but the pictures spoke a thousand words and more.

 

In each photograph, I found places I frequented and people I encountered on a day to day basis. Not only that, but the focal point of each shot was… me.

 

My knuckles whitened as my hands clenched. “Who took these?” I demanded.

 

He shrugged. “Scouts, bodyguards – it depends on the day really.” A smug smile bloomed on his face. “Do you believe me now?”

 

Unbidden, my eyes drifted back down to the photos. Not all of them were recent. All together, I’d say they ranged from at least four years to a single week previously. A humorless laugh escaped me. “I definitely believe I have a stalker,” I said as I shuffled through them. “Why?”

 

“Boss’s orders. You became the heir apparent after the last two were killed five years ago and he wanted to keep an eye on you.”

 

I blinked. That was both morbid and unexpected. I didn’t remember anything about dead people in the first two episodes (it was a comedy wasn’t it?), but it might have been revealed later... That, or I just didn’t remember it well enough, which was equally possible.

 

I leaned forward. It was time to get serious. “Alright, I’ll bite. I’m not really sure what you could hope to gain from joking about this.” He tipped his hat back to smile pleasantly at me. _Creepy._ “Just tell me one thing – why me? Why am I a candidate?”

 

“Your bloodline. You’re a direct descendant of the man who brought us all together.” I drew my brows together and waited for him to continue. “The mafia isn’t just comprised of criminals. A lot of the work we do does fall on the wrong side of the law, but first and foremost we are a society. We have gifts and abilities that the rest of the world can only dream about.” He held up a finger to forestall my questions.

 

“Vongola Primo, your ancestor, was more gifted than the rest of us. This gave him the power to bring the rest of his contemporaries to heel. He brought order to an otherwise lost and chaotic people.”

 

Were it not for the absolute lack of passion in his tone, I would have described the words as religiously fervent. As it was, I got the impression that this Vongola Primo guy was highly respected.

 

“What about my parents?” I asked. “If I’m a direct descendant, then one of them – most likely my dad,” I added as an afterthought, “Is also a direct descendant. Why can’t he take over?” I rubbed tiredly at my forehead. “I mean sure, I’d have to inherit from him at some point – and inheriting due to blood is stupid in the first place – but I wouldn’t need to do anything about it now.”

 

“Your father’s current occupation precludes him from the position. Had this happened after he retired it would’ve been a non-issue, but that’s unfortunately not the case.” The hitman took his hat off and spun it on a finger, looking away from me for a moment. “If he took the position, it would look like he killed off the other candidates in a power grab. Even now, there will be those who think he did so for your sake; so his own child could inherit.”

 

“That’s absurd!”

 

“Yes.” I had to blink at the unexpected agreement. “And anyone who knows your father well will agree, but it’s no real problem. Most of the underworld believes the direct descendants have more right to rule anyway. Since your father isn’t taking the position himself, no one’s going to protest too much. With your age and gender taken into account, you’ll be seen as innocent of anything unsavory.”

 

“O-okay.” That was a lot to take in… “But if people who weren’t direct descendants were okay before, why is it an issue now? Surely even if a few of the candidates the current boss had in mind died, there are other relatives he could use? Or even some non-relative he approves of?”

 

“It _must_ be a relative and there are no other relatives who meet the criteria.” The answer was immediate and succinct.

 

“Criteria…?”

 

“We’ll get to that later.”

 

“But-”

 

“Trust me, we’ll get to it.”

 

I glared, but had more pressing questions. “What about you then? You said you were a hitman and here to train me for the position, but why you? And what do I even need to learn in order to be a mafia boss?”

 

The child-hitman looked annoyed, though he did answer. “I am one of the most powerful in the world when it comes to my gift. I’ll be able to train you to harness your own. I’ve also worked closely with the current Vongola boss and can, to some extent, prepare you for the day-to-day duties.

 

“As for what you need to learn,” he sighed and shook his head. “There’s so much it’s hard to decide where to begin…” He placed the black fedora back on his head. “I suppose we’ll start with the basics of honing your gift and strategizing. You’ll also need lessons in Italian language and culture. Once you’ve got the basics down, we’ll move on to negotiating and settling disputes as a third party.”

 

That didn’t actually seem all that unreasonable, though the last one sounded more like being a couples’ therapist than a mafia boss. I only had one more question on my mind, the one he’d been avoiding. “You keep mentioning gifts,” I said after a pause. “What are you talking about and does it have anything to do with that bullet from earlier?”

 

“Flames,” he said flatly. “I’m talking about flames. The physical manifestation of your will. So yes, it has something to do with the bullet.”

 

“And?” I asked leadingly.

 

“And I will tell you more tomorrow.” I could only watch in mild surprise as my new ‘tutor’ turned on his heel, threw a casual wave over his shoulder, and left the room.

 

The door clicked shut behind him.

 

_What the actual fuck?_

.

.

.

 

 

The next morning, I woke up secure in the knowledge that it had all been a dream… At least until I saw the child sitting at my breakfast table sipping coffee. _Not a dream,_ I realized with a sinking stomach.

I looked around the room. “Mom?”

 

“Good morning, Sen-chan,” my mom’s voice greeted cheerfully. A moment later, she entered from the kitchen with a plate in each hand. “Tsu-kun’s running late as usual. Do you mind helping me set the table?”

 

“Not at all,” I answered automatically. I shot a wary glance at our guest, but his expression didn’t shift one iota as I moved past him.

 

Whatever, I’d leave confronting him for later. My mother was a lovely and compassionate woman, but her sheltered upbringing meant she did not respond well to confrontation or high-stakes situations. That sort of thing was best left for when she was out of earshot.

 

Once in the kitchen, I picked up the remaining dishes and utensils and brought them to the table. “Here you go, Mom.” I turned to the other occupied chair, smiling pleasantly. ‘Kill them with kindness’ was something that had stuck with me from my previous life. After all, it was passive aggressive enough that it was well-suited to both my personality _and_ my current culture. _“And this is for you, Reborn.”_

 

“Thank you, Sen-chan.” It was a challenge to keep smiling when he addressed me with such a suffix, especially considering his appearance, but I swallowed my annoyance. _Later, Sen._ I reminded myself.

 

“Ah, Sen-chan,” my mother began. “Reborn has asked that we speak in Japanese so that he can improve his fluency. He’s already quite good, from what I can tell, but who are we to deny him such a simple request?”

 

I shrugged. I didn’t care which language he used, so long as he kept the mafia bullshit far, far away from her. “Of course,” I said aloud.

 

The ensuing meal was stilted, at least on my end. The other two didn’t seem to think so, chattering away throughout. It was galling, actually. As a result, I ate as quickly as I could and left for school twenty minutes earlier than usual.

 

“Senpai, good morning!” I turned around and smiled at my brother’s classmate.

 

“Good morning Kyoko-chan.”

 

“You’re early today,” Kyoko observed. “I haven’t seen you on my way to school before.”

 

I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I, um, have some company over and needed a moment to myself.”

 

Kyoko nodded along. “Oh, I know what you mean. Whenever my cousins come to visit, the youngest one follows me everywhere. He’s quite cute, but it wears me out!”

 

Not really what I meant, but I didn’t correct her. I was about to change the subject with something inane when Kyoko spoke up again, sounding surprised. “Oh, who’s that?”

 

“Hm?” I looked at Kyoko curiously. “Who are you talking about?”

 

“There.” She pointed discretely. “That boy in a suit – do you know who he is?”

 

My stomach churned a little bit and I turned around, fighting to keep a grimace off my face. _Drat._ “Oh, that’s Reborn. I think he’s going to be staying with me for a few days.” Of course, if I had my way, he’d be gone already.

 

It was one thing to be intrigued by the idea of a teenager becoming a mafia boss when you were looking at something purely fictional; the reality of it was much less appealing.

 

Kyoko clapped her hands and rocked on her feet. “How exciting! Is he a relative of yours?” She seemingly hadn’t made the connection that this was who I was avoiding.

 

“No, just a family friend,” I told her distractedly. It would be seriously bad if my new “tutor” ruined my reputation by saying something incriminating. I hated it when people made assumptions about me. “Here, let me go see what he wants. You can go on ahead. Tell Tsuna I said ‘hi’ when you see him.”

 

She looked a little disappointed that I hadn’t offered to introduce her, but I had bigger things to worry about.

 

“Ah, okay.” She gave me a little smile. “I’ll see you at the next track meet then?”

 

I returned the smile. “Yeah, see you then.”

 

We parted ways, Kyoko continuing towards the local middle school and me doubling back to the slowly approaching figure. “Reborn,” I called out. “Is there something you need?”

 

“You’re unobservant.”

 

“Excuse me?”

 

The hitman scowled. “I suspected of course – considering all the men we had stationed here, surveilling you – but I didn’t realize you were this pathetic.”

 

Incensed, I made a jerking, frustrated gesture with my hand. “ _What_ are you talking about?”

 

“I’ve been tailing you since you left the house. Quite obviously actually.”

 

I crossed my arms. “Why on earth would you do that?”

 

“To gauge how likely you were to notice someone suspicious before they tried to kill you,” he said with a sickly sweet smile. “Chances are slim to none, if you were curious.”

 

I huffed a breath and turned to go. “I don’t have time for this – I need to get to school.” This was too much. I couldn’t actually be in an anime, could I?

 

“I’ll be accompanying you.”

 

I froze in place. “Accompanying me _where_?”

 

“To school,” he elaborated. “I’ll be joining you on the way to and from school every day from now on.”

 

 _“Why?”_ I bit out.

 

“Now that you’re to be trained as the next official Vongola boss, we can’t afford to keep the low level thugs around. It was fine when they just had to watch over a little girl and her brother under the assumption that their father was someone important, but if the news that you were the Family’s next heir got out…” Reborn grimaced. “You’d be dead within the year.”

 

I couldn’t help but shiver at the thought. No matter how much I wanted to dismiss his words, something in me was telling me that everything he said was true.

 

Still, that didn’t mean I needed to be happy about it. “Do as you like.”

 

I turned on my heel and stalked off, forcing myself not to speed up when Reborn moved to walk beside me. I didn’t like the idea of losing my composure where anyone could see, so I kept my mouth shut and my expression placid for the entire walk.

 

Fortunately, Reborn didn’t try to speak. He simply walked me to the gates and leaned against them as I entered school grounds. “Have a good day at school, Sen-chan.”

 

“Thank you,” I said begrudgingly. Damn ingrained manners. With a final nod, I walked through the front doors, ignoring the stares, and pretended not to notice that Reborn only left once I was safely inside.

 

_Jerk._


	2. Chapter 2

Homeroom was a bit of a nightmare that morning, what with everyone who'd seen Reborn asking about my foreigner "friend." I diverted their attention easily enough, but just because it was easy didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

 

"What's so exciting about a foreigner anyway?" I grumbled later, completely ignoring my math teacher's droning lecture. "I mean, they weren't this exited about _me_ when we started school together!"

 

"Yeah, but you're part Japanese even if you don't look it," said Mei. She was a straightforward girl and the closest thing I had to a friend. "I mean, sure, from a distance you seem cool, but the minute you open your mouth you ruin the illusion."

 

I furrowed my brows. "What's that supposed to mean?" I'd gone into my second chance at life with the best of intentions. I was kind to everyone except those that were rude first, and even then, I chose to ignore the bullies and jerks rather than engage.

 

(They were young. Problems at home and deep-rooted insecurities were things that could be overcome with time and perspective. In my first life, some of my worst tormentors had grown up to be genuinely good people.)

 

That in mind, there shouldn't be anything about my speech or demeanor that came across as offensive.

 

"Well, you sound like a native." Mei shrugged and went back to fiddling with her phone under the desk, adding, "It's not that exciting once you reveal that you've never been to another country and you don't speak another language."

 

"I speak English fluently!"

 

"Yeah, but so do a lot of Japanese people. Your Italian friend is more intriguing to everyone because he's so much more  _exotic._ " She said the last word with no small degree of sarcastic humor. "Now stop worrying about it so I can message my boyfriend in peace."

 

I rolled my eyes and went back to my half-hearted note-taking.

 

The rest of the day passed normally enough, lulling me into a false sense of security just in time for the school day to end. I managed to slip out quickly and without attracting any attention from my peers. Lucky thing too, since Reborn was lounging against the gate in his ridiculous suit and hat combo.

 

Grimacing, I said, “Let’s go,” and hurried towards home. He followed, catching up to me and taking his place at my left side. I twitched, but ultimately said nothing.

 

After a few minutes of walking in silence, I asked, “So what’s the plan?”

 

“We’ll be discussing flames today.”

 

I heard the emphasis placed on the last word and remembered the brief description from the day before. “The physical manifestations of will?”

 

He nodded and I was struck with a serious of ridiculous images. Men in suits punching fists of flame at one another, snapping their fingers to light cigars, and blowing on their soup to keep it warm.

 

“…So the mafia isn’t actually filled with criminals, but pyrokinetics?”

 

Reborn smirked. “It’s not really a one or the other sort of thing. But ultimately, yes.”

 

I dragged my hand down my face. “This is so _stupid._ ”

 

He shrugged. “You’ll get used to it soon enough.”

 

“I doubt it.” I pulled out my house key and let us both inside. “Where do you want to sit and discuss things? Mom needs the kitchen and my brother likes to do his homework in the living room, so we can use either my Dad’s study or my room.”

 

“Let’s use the study.”

 

I led the way, dropping my heavy bookbag on the floor with a relieved sigh. Somewhat unsurprisingly, Reborn took the seat behind the massive desk, leaving me to take one of the armchairs across from it.

 

“So,” I said. “Flames?”

 

“So eager,” he leaned back in the chair with his fingers steepled. “What happened to all the denial from yesterday?”

 

I rolled my eyes. “I already said that I couldn’t see what you’d stand to gain if this were a joke.” I folded my legs primly. “I’m willing to set aside my skepticism and go along with this until I’m presented with solid proof one way or another.” Admittedly, I was still hoping to wake up from this fever dream, but so long as he didn’t ask me to do anything embarrassing, I would play along.

 

“Fair enough.” He kicked his feet up on the desk and cleared his throat. “Like I told you yesterday, your ancestor brought our people together. He gathered up everyone who shared his gifts and created a society in which no one had to hide. Most commonly, we refer to this society as the underworld, but different branches have adopted their own names and cultures within the greater whole.

 

“For example,” he leaned forward and gave my father’s globe a gentle spin. “In Japan, flame-users are called Yakuza.” He pointed to the chain of islands and then to a new location. “In Italy, it’s the Mafia. In China, the Triads. In America-”

 

“The Mob.” When I noticed Reborn’s stare I shrugged. “What? I watched The Godfather.”

 

“Anyway,” he said. “All these organizations do their best to stay out of the spotlight. Sometimes dealings with civilians can’t be avoided or concealed, but aside from a few very minor points of intersection, the bulk of our culture and our people remain completely hidden from the outside world. And within these hidden enclaves, flame-users and their families are free to use their abilities as they see fit.”

 

“Okay. And when you say abilities – you mean pyrokinesis?”

 

“Not exactly.” He held up a hand with middle finger and thumb pressed together. “We manifest our willpower in the physical realm like this,” he snapped, releasing a small tuft of yellow flame from the tip of his thumb, “But it’s not actually fire.”

 

The tiny flame flickered in exactly the same way that the candle in my bedroom did. “Are you sure?” I asked skeptically. “Because it looks like a regular flame to me.”

 

“Real fire is fueled by oxygen, _flames_ are fueled by sheer force of will.” He dropped his hand, no longer burning, to the desk. “Due to a mixture of genetics and situational factors, there are seven ways in which flames can present themselves.” He reached into his coat and pulled out a small book. “We refer to these different types of physical manifestations as the Seven Flames of the Sky.”

 

The book he pushed across the desk was titled, very appropriately, _The Seven Flames of The Sky._ “Read this and, after you've finished, feel free to ask me any questions you have.”

 

“Right now?”

 

One eyebrow rose in response. “Unless you have something better to do…?”

 

I picked up the book and muttered, “A simple ‘yes’ would have worked just as well.”

 

Luckily, my ire was soon replaced with curiosity. The book was about the size of a pocket dictionary and had a black cover with gold lettering. Inside the first few pages, I found tiny font and detailed black and white illustrations.

 

And then I started to skim through.

.

.

.

_The Seven Flames of the Sky go by many names in the Underworld. Amongst English-speakers, 'Dying Will Flames' and 'Soul Fire' are perhaps the most common. Regardless of which term is used, however, there are certain aspects and properties which remain universal._

_First and foremost, one needs extreme determination to utilize their flames, a 'dying will,' so to speak. This is especially important when it comes to_   _sparking flames for the first time - a process widely known as Activation_. _Often, flame users will only Activate their abilities in times of great stress. Life-threatening situations are perhaps the most common, though there are instances of rare individuals who have managed it in less dire circumstances._

_Of course, determination and a stressful situation are not the only factors necessary for Activation. If they were, there would be many more flame-users in the world. There are two other factors which play a crucial role in one's ability to call upon their inner fire: genetic-predisposition and exposure. Without these additional factors, Activation is much harder to achieve._

_In fact, it is estimated that for every flame-user in an individual's family tree, the chance of Activation increases by a factor of two (a major reason why the established Families have so few Dormants among them). Take, for example..._

 


End file.
